


Take Your Time

by motivationalhedonism



Series: Delighted and Distracted 'Verse [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is Watching From Inside the Closet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Issues, Fear of Abandonment, James Madison: Oblivious Straight Best Friend™, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sex Toys, Solo, Thomas Jefferson: Requires Constant Attention, Unrequited Love, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motivationalhedonism/pseuds/motivationalhedonism
Summary: It was routine: James and Thomas hang out. James leaves for Dolley. Thomas calls Martha. Thomas and Martha meet up at their usual bar. And, finally, after eyeing everyone at said bar and finding no one that can possibly hold a candle to James, they call an Uber or hail a cab and Thomas sees to it that Martha gets home safe.Before finally going home himself.Alone.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison (one-sided), Thomas Jefferson/Martha Wayles Jefferson (past)
Series: Delighted and Distracted 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108418
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Take Your Time

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warning:** Homophobic slur mentioned in passing.

"You're leaving me?" Thomas knew he was being a brat, but he couldn't help but want to keep James there. Their times alone together were getting scarcer and scarcer, the man now almost always busy with pre-law and Dolley. "Don't leave," he begged, hugging his friend around James' middle, pressing his cheek to the other's back.

"I have to go, Thomas," James said, hands insistently wrapped around Thomas' wrists, but not forcing him to let go. "I still have to grab something from my room before I head out."

"But you love me," he complained.

"That I do." James smiled, looking down at him fondly. Thomas didn't know why he kept torturing himself like this. "But I promised Dolley I'd help dogsit for her neighbor tonight."

Ouch. The internal wound the implication of  _ that _ tore open would take some time to heal.

"Oh," Thomas whispered. "Okay." He tried not to pout too much, he really did, but he somehow ended up with a pained grimace.

James caught his expression, because James  _ always _ did, his closest friend's eyes already pinched in worry. "Thomas, do you—"

"Okay, I have some plates to work on anyway," Thomas cut him off before he could suggest anything else. He had to because if James finished that question, if James asked him to come along with them, he would have said yes, and he would have had to watch the couple make googly eyes at each other all night while he sat on a stranger's single seat couch.

"Huh." James' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You said you were done with them."

"I lied," Thomas lied, "I said I was done 'cause I wanted to spend more time with you."

James shook his head, believing the bluff just as easily. Thomas had a habit of doing similar things in the past, so in James' eyes that wasn't too far-fetched. "Tom, we've already discussed this," he shook his head, reprimanding. "You know I don't like it when you put off your requirements for me."

Despite actually having been caught up with his requirements, Thomas deflated at James' tone. "I know."

"I'll make it up to you," James promised. "I'm sorry we haven't been hanging out much lately. I've just been so swamped."

Thomas nodded.

"Look," James continued, "do your plates first, alright? And then tell me when you're done with them, and we can schedule a hangout. Just us two."

_ That's not gonna happen anytime soon, _ Thomas knew. He smiled brightly at his friend anyway. "Sure, Jemmy."

He was drawn into a hug then, finding himself pressed against James' broader form. Thomas tried to reciprocate convincingly as he could with his heart shattering with longing in his chest.

James left after that, sending Thomas a small wave as he went.

**To: Martha Wayles**

Hey doll! Let's meet? :D

**From: Martha Wayles**

...James left you alone again, didn't he?

**To: Martha Wayles**

D:

**From: Martha Wayles**

10 PM later at The Drunk Stallion. One hour, Thomas.

**From: Martha Wayles**

I mean it. One hour. Some of us have a thesis to work on.

**To: Martha Wayles**

:D

**From: Martha Wayles**

Use emojis like a normal person.

Martha knew what she was in for. That was one hour, a whole hour, which Thomas would dedicate to mourning James' unavailability. And, of course, the reason she was needed — her insight:

"I think you need to get your dick wet."

"Martha!" Thomas exclaimed, affronted. "That's so crude!"

"Martha," she parroted with a fake southern belle accent, "that's so crude!"

"I _do_ _not_ sound like that."

"We're at a gay bar called  _ The Drunk Stallion _ , Thomas." Martha Wayles downed her drink in one go and emphasized her point by slamming the empty shot glass back on their booth table. "People are half-naked and grinding on each other around us, so save that act for someone who cares."

Thomas just glared at her.

"Also, you  _ do _ sound like that," she added, for good measure.

It was a completely different accent.

Sometimes Thomas wondered if she was mean to him because of what he put her through. Your boyfriend of three months absolutely  _ paling _ at the sight of you naked, excusing himself from your house, not contacting you for an entire week, before finally telling you that he that he might really be gay through a fucking phone call... wasn't the ideal way to almost lose your virginity.

He thought about it.

No, no. Martha remained sweet to him and was supportive of his self-discovery regardless of how she initially felt when he walked out on her like that. Which could only mean...

...okay, so  _ maybe _ it was because of the occasional—accidental, might Thomas add—misogynistic generalizations he'd let slip every once in a while.

Yep, definitely the second reason.

(He really was trying to get better at that though, ever since he made the mistake of making one of those comments in front of Angelica Schuyler, of all people, and she verbally slammed him so hard he was left with no choice to submit and admit his wrongs. They were even friends now.)

Thomas groaned, dropping his face in his hands, elbows set on the table. "I didn't bring you here to leech off my wallet and slander me."

"You brought me here for advice, which I gave. Get laid. You're tall, you're attractive, you're—," she vaguely gestured at Thomas' crotch area, "— _ sizeable.  _ Look around, Tom. Half these men are mentally undressing you. Get over James for the night and let one or two of them physically undress you for once."

"It's not just that, Patty," he sighed. "It's not just... it's not just sex. That's not all I want."

Thomas wanted what James and Dolley had. What Gil and Mulligan had. Hell, what Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler  _ had _ before the little imp fucked it all up.

"You know, you're not exactly giving yourself any other options with that James tunnel vision you have."

...and she was right.

The two fell silent, or as silent as they could've managed with the bass pounding in the background and people chatting all around them. Somewhere through their shared basket of wings and fries, the joking mood dropped completely.

"I wish I were just... normal," Thomas admitted, breaking the silence. He knew it wasn't the right thing to say, but he wanted to be heard anyway.

"Tommy, we talked about this before," Martha said, giving him a reproachful look. "There's nothing wrong with you. Straight is not the default setting."

"No, no, I didn't mean being gay," he defended immediately.

Martha raised a dubious eyebrow.

"Okay, I meant being gay," Thomas conceded. "But not in the way you think."

Her features softened, already listening as she knew this was something he wanted to let out.

"I just wish I could've fallen in love with you instead."

And there was a time Thomas really thought that could've happened, back when he was so deep in the closet he could've said hi to Mr. Tumnus. Of course, that didn't end well.

"You love me plenty already, darlin'," Martha reminded him, smiling at and cupping his face with a small hand. "Besides, I realized quite a while ago that you're not my type." She grinned wide at that, pinching Thomas' cheek.

"Hey!"

"Way too high-maintenance!"

It was routine: James and Thomas hang out. James leaves for Dolley. Thomas calls Martha. Thomas and Martha meet up at their usual bar. And, finally, after eyeing everyone at said bar and finding no one that can possibly hold a candle to James, they call an Uber or hail a cab and Thomas sees to it that Martha gets home safe.

Before finally going home himself.

Alone.

He deserved this, he supposed. He did after all spend most of his high school days flirting with every girl he knew would swoon at the slightest attention in an attempt to curb what he thought was a sexual deviation. He took them out on dates and disappeared from their lives, never to call again.

Now he was pathetically in love with his childhood best friend. Who happened to be straight. And in a relationship.

This had to be some sort of divine retribution.

**To: Jemmy Madison**

Jaaames, you busy?

**To: Jemmy Madison**

Jemmyyy

**To: Jemmy Madison**

Aw busy then

"Why aren't we at our usual place again?" he asked, looking at a neon sign that said  _ The Second Bar to the Right _ .

"Because you never work to get laid anyway, darlin'," Martha replied. "Might as well see if  _ I _ can try for some action." She didn't look like she was dressed for that purpose, with her flowy peach sundress, but Thomas wasn't going to tell her that.

He didn't mind that she wanted to do something different that night. He hadn't needed that sort of comfort from her as often anymore. After all, he was already getting used to the growing rift between him and James. James hardly ever left him now, because James was hardly ever there. The shorter man hadn't even made good on his promise yet.

They were barely two drinks in when Martha noticed something very wrong.

"Thomas," she hissed, looking around, "I think the people here think you're my boyfriend."

"What?"

"This is my lucky sundress, and I should've had at least three come-ons already. Three! You're driving them away."

"...wow, you're just that sure of yourself, huh?"

"Of course I am," she responded. "Quick, flirt with someone else!"

"Ugh, fine, just—"

Thomas stopped mid-thought, standing up from his seat for a better look.

Huh.

It definitely wasn't that he thought professors weren't regular human beings and therefore couldn't possibly be caught in bars, because he'd definitely had a few drinks with a few professors before. Just that usually the professors he caught in bars were always the much younger ones.

Not that he thought Professor Washington was that old. (He would've been more worried if Professor Franklin had been there because, seriously, he was pretty sure that man was way past his retirement age and was only propelled forward by his love for knowledge.)

Maybe this was the college equivalent of seeing your English teacher at a mom-and-pop diner when you were in primary school.

"Someone caught your eye, doll?" Martha asked, a Cheshire grin on her face. She leaned over with a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull herself up to his height to see where he was looking.

"No... just someone I know."

"Mhmmm. Go get 'em, tiger!" She pushed him forward until he stumbled.

"It's not like tha—," he tried to tell her, but Martha had somehow speed walked an impressive amount of distance between them while he was righting himself from the shove.

He rolled his eyes, dragging his feet over to where he spotted his professor. He pushed through crowds of people over to where Washington sat by the bar. To his surprise, the man glanced up and smiled politely.

"Mr. Jefferson," Washington greeted with a nod.

"Sir," he nodded back.

"I saw you come in earlier," the older man explained with a lighthearted smile. "Glad I did before I even considered having a drink. I would have made an absolute fool of myself!"

Thomas chuckled awkwardly at the anecdote, cutting himself off with a cough before the man noticed his discomfort. "Lightweight, sir?"

Washington huffed a laugh. "Hmmm, no. Heavy drinker, hard to stop once started."

They were interrupted by the bartender setting a glass in front of them, clear liquid with lemon slices and mint leaves inside. "Your drink."

"Thank you."

Thomas eyed the man as he picked it up, taking a long drink, throat bobbing on a swallow. The older man pulled away from the glass immediately, eyes widening.

"Ah, where are my manners... you've had dinner already, right?" Washington asked. "Have a drink, it's on me."

"Oh, that's not necessary, I—"

"Please, I insist. Conversation flows easier when you're sharing a drink, no?"

Thomas paused at that, looking back to his and Martha's table where a girl he'd never seen before had already taken his seat, another girl having pulled a chair closer to the table. They were chatting amicably with his friend as if they'd known each other their entire lives. There were a few extra empty glasses than what he had left behind along with a large plate of mozzarella sticks and sliders they all seemed to be sharing.

He was just a bit buzzed from the drinks he had with Martha. But he supposed it would be awkward if he just sat by the bar watching Washington drink.

"Then I'll have what you're having..?"

"Virgin mojito," Washington said, raising his drink. "Driving later, can't have a real drink."

"I'll have a mojito then. Not... not virgin."

The older man laughed again, amused, before waving the bartender over and ordering Thomas' drink along with some food to share. What they talked about for the next passing hour was a blur, as one drink turned into another and then another, but Thomas did remember wondering how the man stayed easy on him after what he'd done back in freshman year.

It was back when Thomas and Hamilton couldn't be put in a room together without the possibility of violent crime. Thomas may have noticed that Washington favored Hamilton out of the rest of his class, doing little to hide it. The professor definitely gave the little runt more opportunities, giving him more attention and guidance outside lectures. He didn't fail to notice how the professor excused a lot of things Hamilton did and said, letting him get away with offenses other students would have gotten more than a slap on the wrist for (like trying to pick a physical fight with Thomas in the hallway after a particularly intense debate during a lecture).

While he couldn't accept the thought back then, Thomas could now admit to himself that he was a bit jealous of the attention. He did, after all, put just as much effort into his classes as the runt did. So one day in an argument with Hamilton he may have insinuated that the smaller man and the professor had... a sexual relationship. And there may have been other students spectating that time. And those students may have snowballed that comment into rumors.

He felt bad about it once he found out that the reason Professor Washington had a fondness for the slighter male was that he had known the kid since he was being passed around from foster home to foster home and had promised to sponsor him when he got to college. While Hamilton had landed a scholarship and refused any help from Washington after that, Thomas understood why they remained close.

Washington knew about the rumors and Thomas was sure he knew who started them, but he never addressed them directly, only ever reminding his students that spreading rumors was dishonorable. Especially those that had potential to destroy someone's reputation.

Thomas had yet to apologize.

"Mr. Jefferson," Washington called, shaking him out of his thoughts. "You haven't heard a word I said in the past five minutes, have you?" His words were scolding, but his tone and demeanor were light, thankfully cluing Thomas that he wasn't mad at all.

"Uh, sorry," he mumbled sheepishly. His vision spun with the headrush he got from looking up too fast. He gripped the counter to steady himself.

"I'll call your friend. I think you've had enough for tonight." The older man set Thomas' glass a bit away from him before getting up from his stool to look for Martha.

The professor found her easy enough, Thomas observed through clouded vision. They exchanged a few words, his friend nodding at whatever Washington was saying. Martha finally stepped away to excuse herself, Washington having spotted someone in a booth nearby and approaching them.

"Darling!" she slurred, swaying slightly. Her sundress was already rumpled from movement, from her sitting down and walking around all evening. Somehow, despite her size and the clear amount of drinks she had her eyes were still alert, making her appear sober at least from her hair down to her neck.

He wrapped an arm around her to steady himself. "Mar'th," he slurred back, "le's go home? 'll call you a cab."

"No need for that. I have an Uber coming," she said. "Mr. George is offering you a ride, by the way. You're drunker than me, we need to get you home first."

Thomas gave her a skeptical look.

Martha rolled her eyes and held the app out as proof. "See? I have a ride," she reiterated. "Besides," she leaned up closer to Thomas, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear, "I see you've found yourself  _ a stallion _ ."

She patted his chest as she pushed her way past him, laughing all the way, leaving him gaping in mortification.

Good lord, Martha had  _ badly _ misread his and Washington's relationship.

The man walked back over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Jefferson, do you need a ride back to campus? Professor Adams is offering as well, but I don't think he has any other agenda back there. It wouldn't be an inconvenience for me."

_ Adams? _ That made Thomas look over Washington's shoulder, over to the booth the man approached after talking to Martha. Indeed, it was the short stocky man seated there. He thought about it. He was closer to Adams, but if Washington was planning on stopping by campus anyway...

"You 'ave somethin' to do there at this time of th' night, sir?"

"I might have left the papers I need to grade," the professor chuckled awkwardly.

Well, if it wasn't too much of a bother. "Sure then."

They passed by Professor Adams on the way, informing him that Washington already offered to drive him back.

Martha was already outside when they got out, waving him good-bye as she got in an Uber with the two girls she was talking with earlier.

Selfishly, Thomas was glad Martha hadn't manage to pick up some stranger that night. Of course, there was the obvious reason that going home and hooking up with strangers was unsafe and potentially even dangerous. There was also the fact that, deep inside, he was afraid that she'd somehow find someone she clicked with and... alright, it was unlikely Martha would actually find a boyfriend in some seedy bar with a cheesy name. But Thomas wasn't about to cross that possibility out.

After all, James  _ did _ meet Dolley at an arcade.

(They had a severed head plush toy crane machine at that time, for some reason.

They were ugly as sin and Thomas hated them, so James spent twenty minutes trying to win one for him until Dolley came up to them and offered some help. She somehow won two at the first try and Thomas could tell that was the exact time James fell for her, even just a little.

Dolley gave Thomas the first one, but she and James argued over who got to keep the second until they agreed on joint custody. They exchanged numbers so neither of them would slack off on co-parent duties. Years later, they still had the ugly thing and still called it their firstborn.

Thomas still had his, too. He hated it for two reasons now.)

Yeah, he wasn't ready for Martha to find someone and leave him too.

"—ferson," a cool, smooth voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Son, are you alright?"

Right. He was in a car with Washington, who was driving him back home. Thomas turned to the driver's seat and found the older man with a concerned expression, eyes still on the road but head slightly turned towards him.

He figured out fast why the man was worried. His eyes were burning slightly with tears, and with the low light from outside Thomas could guess it was pretty easy to tell when your car companion was seconds from crying. It completely slipped his mind that he usually got emotional after the fifth or so drink. He knew one thing though: he was not going to cry in front of this man.

"Stop the car."

"Shit."

Washington pulled over, almost swerving into the sidewalk. They were still closer to the bar than campus, though they've gotten far enough that the neon lights of that district had been replaced by dim street lights. Far enough that the presence of people grew sparse along the way and the streets became empty.

"Shit, kid," Washington cursed again, squeezing between his seat and Thomas' to reach for something in the back. "Do you need to puke?" He procured a sick bag.

Thomas pressed his palms into his eyes, leaning forward into the dashboard, stomach swirling with the anxiety his spiraling thoughts caused him. It sort of did feel like he needed to hurl. The reason was far from the physical effects of alcohol, though. No, he didn't need to vomit, he didn't need the sick bag, he needed—

He reached over for the next best bad decision.

"Sir." He grabbed Washington's collar, using his grasp on it to pull himself closer to the older man.

And kiss him.

It was a terrible lapse of judgement, he knew that. But at that moment it felt good. Not right, just good. The man didn't move his lips or hold Thomas, still frozen in shock, but just the warmth and the touch and feeling close to someone... it was comforting, in a pathetic sort of way.

Thomas found himself pulled away, two strong hands gripping him tight by his upper arms.

"We can't do this," Washington asserted. "You're my student."

"A student," Thomas corrected, his usual drawl slurring more under the influence of five(? Six?) drinks. "Not my professor anymore, I shifted majors."

He leaned back in to claim Washington's mouth with his own, not quite sure if the older man didn't lean in himself. Thomas was just halfway through slipping his tongue in, body leaning further over the gear shift before—

—he was pulled away again, rougher this time. "You're drunk," his (ex-)professor pointed out, breathing harsh against his lips.

"Not drunk enough," Thomas insisted. He ran his hands up the professor's chest, then around his neck, pressing closer. "Sir, please, sir, plea—"

Washington cut off his begging by pulling him in and claiming his lips with a new vigor. Thomas moaned into the other man's mouth.

The kiss was hot and wet and everything Thomas thought he needed. It left him lightheaded, though he couldn't really tell if his vision swam because of the alcohol, the breathlessness, or the weight of his very bad decision. But his mind proved to be too muddled to think it over as there was a tongue sliding over his again and he tried to give back as good as he got, giving the older man a taste of the cosmopolitan he had earlier.

Thomas growled when Washington pulled him away again, ready to argue some more.

"Mr. Jefferson, I'm flattered, really," Washington said, pushing him away gently by the shoulders with a finality, "but I have a wife."

Thomas froze. That was when he caught the glint of the wedding ring on Washington's left hand. The guilt and shame that flooded him at that sobered him up quickly. "Oh," he whispered. "I'm sorry." He slumped back down the passenger seat.

_ Everyone has a someone. _

The rest of the trip was silent and awkward, but Thomas was just thankful Washington wasn't his professor anymore lest he'd have had to feign a week of migraines just to avoid his classes in embarrassment. They didn't travel far, but the ride seemed to drag on for so long, air becoming stifling. He couldn't imagine having to sit in class listening to the man he just aggressively propositioned.

Thomas sighed in relief when they finally pulled up the campus parking lot.

"Do you need me to accompany you back to your room?" Washington asked, opening the door for Thomas to step out. He assessed the younger man, trying to gauge whether he could handle walking from the parking lot to his dorm room four floors up without blacking out on the way.

Thomas thought about it.

"I've sobered up a bit already, sir. I think I can walk on my own," he said.

Washington stepped back, nodding in understanding. "Alright. Take care of yourself."

"Thank you for the ride."

It was a bad idea anyway.

**From: Alexander Hamilton**

i'll be coming home late tonight

**To: Alexander Hamilton**

And you're telling me this... why?

**From: Alexander Hamilton**

just thought i'd tell you

**From: Alexander Hamilton**

because we're roommates

**From: Alexander Hamilton**

unless you can tell me honestly you wouldn't bitch if i accidentally woke you up when i get home

**To: Alexander Hamilton**

Read.

There were plenty of problems sleeping around posed.

Thomas didn't exactly sleep around in the sense of the term, as admittedly he'd only ever had a few conquests and had only ever actually been a conquest for even less. But with how he was raised there was always a part of him that felt wrong whenever he stumbled into some 2-star hotel or went for a quick bathroom fuck with another man.

Like guilt most of the time. Like he was practically begging Peter Jefferson to throw him out on the streets in others.

Rationally, Thomas knew that there was very little chance—near infinitesimal, really—anyone he could possibly find lurking at gay bars would ever be associated with or have contact with Peter Jefferson, especially with how the man seemed to abhor "those damn fags" with every fiber of his being. But paranoia knew no rationality, and so no matter how much Martha assured him that they were miles away from Virginia and that anyone who knew him enough to tell on him wouldn't even think about going their usual place, he still spent his waking days waiting for the other shoe to drop: for his dad to call him and tell him that he knew about Thomas' sexual abnormality.

And that he was disowned.

It wasn't a dependency problem, as Thomas could very much fend for himself should his father choose to cut off finances. But having to see the look of disgust in his mother's face if she finds out? Possibly getting banned from their family home, never to see his siblings again? That was something he might never get over.

That wasn't even taking into account how his father might react. He didn't want to think about it.

Between the James issue and the paranoia that he'd be outed by undercover heterosexuality police agents sent to spy on him... Thomas hadn't gotten laid in a while. So when Hamilton had messaged him that he'd be out for a few hours, Thomas knew he might never get a better chance.

He turned his screen off immediately after he sent the last text, ignoring the ringtone that followed shortly after. Thomas was already buzzing with excitement, knowing exactly how he wanted to spend his alone time. It was rare for Hamilton to be out, the hermit always cooped up in their shared room, working on his papers. It was even rarer for him to actually tell Thomas that he'd be out. A few weeks more and Thomas would have been convinced Hamilton was intentionally silicone cock blocking him.

That was how Thomas found himself with his shirt rucked up his chest, legs spread to make space for his hand pressing three fingers into himself, watching porn in bed on a (relatively) lucky Friday afternoon. Toy ready and waiting at his side.

He didn't take his time to go through the catalogue and pulled up the first video he found. Realistically, Thomas knew he could probably toss that particular top around like a ragdoll. The bottom, while hot on his own, had a chronic poker face. It didn't matter much, though, as he was pretty much already ready for action. Hell, he'd been ready since three weeks ago.

It had been so long.

He spread his fingers apart, the stretch promising something bigger to come.

"Hahhh..."

Thomas felt his face flush at the sound of his own voice, combined with the squelching sound of lube helping his fingers slide in and out. There was always something embarrassing about hearing one's own moans. He shook the thoughts away, instead fucking his fingers in deeper in search for that one spot he knew would make him see stars.

His body jolted when he brushed against it.

"Uh... fu—ck."  _ Bingo. _ He rolled the pads of his fingers over the spot, a bit swollen in arousal, and threw his head back as a pressure settled in his groin. "Fuckfuckfuhh—ck..."

He toyed with his prostate a bit more, stroking lightly, pressing down, alternating pressures. It had to be stimulated to sensitivity, if he wanted to come untouched tonight.

Once the pleasure became too much, Thomas pulled his fingers out and reached for the dildo (what an ugly word) before lubing it up haphazardly. He wasted no time, getting on his knees, onto his stomach — a position he usually found embarrassing when there was someone watching — and pressing the toy's head against his rim, sliding it in.

"Ohhh... fuck me—," Thomas' eyes rolled back, suddenly startlingly aware of how much room the toy made for itself in his body. Normally he would've stopped to let himself get used to the girth a bit more, but he was already wound tight after weeks of no action. He started thrusting it, in and out, ignoring the ache of the stretch.

He pushed his ass back against the thrusts each time he fucked in, meeting his hand halfway. Pleasure ran thick under his skin, building up as he hit that spot inside him faster, harder,  _ more _ —

Faintly, he was aware he was making more noise than he should've been in a dorm with thin walls and neighboring rooms on both sides of his own. But his pulse roared loud in his ears, the thumps distracting him from his own voice, his own thoughts.

He sat up after a while, deciding on a change of pace. Because for some reason — well, he knew the reason — this just wasn't doing it for him.

Long legs tucked under him, feet pinning the dildo to the bed to make up for the lack of suction, Thomas started riding himself up and down the toy. Then he rode harder, faster, forcing himself to focus on the pleasure and get closer to release despite every cell in his body screaming that this wasn't enough.

It worked, kind of.

"Yes, please, yes... fuck, ah."

But he still wanted warmth inside him, because the silicone of the toy was always too cold, always too smooth to actually emulate the feeling of someone else fucking into him. Always too lacking of the texture of skin, the ridges, the veins, the throbbing of blood underneath. Always too artificial and sometimes leaving him feeling more lonely than sated.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh—"

He wanted hands on his hips, helping him up and down, leaving bruises. Leaving some mark, any mark, a sign that someone else was there and he wasn't alone.

And then, maybe after, he wanted to be held. Helped with the cleanup, kissed softly, then tucked in.

Woken up by a text in the morning. Have someone expecting to meet him for lunch. Lean his head on someone's shoulder and just exist when the requirements prove to be too much to handle for the day. And, when the afternoon falls and the evening sets in, go to sleep feeling warm.

"—hahh—"

_ The Want _ crawled under his skin, setting his nerves alight and threatening to set him on fire in all places. All places, except that lonely cold hollow in his chest where  _ The Need _ burrowed itself in long ago and made itself a home.

_ He wanted, he wanted, he needed— _

_ —James. _

"Fuck, Ja—mes," he moaned, thrown off the crest abruptly by the picture of his closest friend flashing behind his eyes. Cum dripped from his cock to the cloth below, still bouncing on the toy despite his thighs shaking from his climax. His hand tugged harder at his hair in an effort to ground himself.

It was always James for him.

James who, despite being the younger one, despite being the sickly one, never failed to look out for Thomas and make sure he was okay.

Checked under the bed and in the closet for monsters during sleepovers when they were kids. Held his hair out of his eyes as he cried in the boy's room when they were in middle school those times Thomas got too nervous to speak in front of the class. Kept him in line when they were in high school and Thomas had picked up an attitude and few bad habits.

Always asked him if things were okay back at home, always reminded him that there was always a room for Thomas with him.

He slumped forward, body too tired to hold himself up. There was contentment.

And then there was guilt.

Guilt was inevitable. There's no fantasizing about your best friend since childhood while you masturbate without consequences. Especially if that friend happens to be straight, with a girlfriend, and completely oblivious to your feelings.

Thomas decided it was time to clean up anyway. He stood up, fixing the sheets a bit before gathering his things and heading off to the bathroom.

_ Better hurry up before Hamilton gets back. _

**Author's Note:**

> [Relevant Meme](https://imageproxy.ifunny.co/crop:x-20,resize:640x,quality:90x75/images/a2a71d9352bd26690044cfa63616f4e3bd36d5beba9c29088a95c4abd8ec180d_1.jpg).


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